


In Dawnstar

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alesan had glimpsed the Argonian in town before, and always wished he could stop to get a better look. It was mostly Nords in Dawnstar, excepting the occasional travelers, the Khajiit caravan that often came through, and the Dunmer that had arrived shipboard. Lizards particularly were a rare sight so far north; scale-bellies belonged in the south, as the miners said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dawnstar

"What are you doing?"

The Argonian looked up. Alesan stepped back, wary of being snagged by those horns. 

Alesan had glimpsed the Argonian in town before, and always wished he could stop to get a better look. It was mostly Nords in Dawnstar, excepting the occasional travelers, the Khajiit caravan that often came through, and the Dunmer that had arrived shipboard. Lizards particularly were a rare sight so far north; scale-bellies belonged in the south, said the miners. 

The Argonian looked to do well enough, plodding through the snows as the rest of them did. He maneuvered snow drifts and ice patches better than Alesan, sometimes, though he did so bundled up to his snout. 

The kilt of an Imperial uniform was in his lap, and he held a ball of heavy yarn and a thick needle. Alesan had not seen one of those kilts or the cuirasses that went with them until a few months ago; now he knew them quite well. The Argonian’s was plated, like the new Jarl’s guard’s.

The Argonian observed him silently, until Alesan began to shuffle nervously and regret speaking. He jumped when he finally spoke. 

“Mending.” The Argonian rasped, looking down to his needle.

“Did it tear in battle?” Alesan asked. He craned, looking for the tears in the kilt.

“No.” The Argonain did not seem bothered by his scrutiny. “The Empire does not account for tails when clothing their soldiers.”

“Oh.” Alesan only half-successfully smothered his giggle. “I guess they wouldn’t. Scale-bellies don’t normally fight, do they.”

The Argonian caught him with a look that made him squeak. 

“‘Scale-belly’?” Intoned the Argonian, somehow managing to look down his snout at Alesan, though the he was standing and the Argonian sitting. “Such language, and from a hatchling.” He said, turning back his work. 

“Some fight,” The Argonian said. “some do not. Regardless, the Empire supply more pig-fleshed than scale-bellies.”

Alesan blinked curiously. “Pig-fleshed?”

The Argonian flicked one round, beady eye up to his face. “Humans.”

*

"Pig-fleshed?! Where did you hear that?"

"The—. Uh. Ravam said it."

"He should know better than to use that kind of foul speak around a boy like you," Abelone scowled, piling bread into his arms. "Honestly, filthy people, sailors…"

"It's bad to us though? Humans?"

"What? Oh, yes, it's extremely disrespectful. Normally you don't hear it from a Dunmer, though. Khajiit, or Argonians more often--"

Abelone pinned him with a suspicious look. 

Alesan shrunk beneath it, caught. The innkeeper had been like a mother to him, since he’d come to Dawnstar.

"So, it's rude?"

"Yes," Abelone's eyes narrowed. "Very."

"Like…um, calling a cat a pussy—or, or a cat—or a lizard a scale-belly?"

Abelone snorted with sudden understanding, and recommenced stacking loaves on him. “Yes. Very like that.”

Alesan fingered the crumbling edge of one loaf until Abelone smacked his hand down.

“Don’t fiddle.” She chided.

Alesan chewed on his lip thoughtfully. 

“The miners aren’t the nicest people, are they?” He said later, bread-laden and following Abelone.

She hmmed. “Now, I don’t know about that.” She said. “Not always. More like they haven’t met many folk not like them. Their world is smaller. Think it’s all right and good to give young boys language to get themselves in trouble with.” This last she muttered poisonously under her breath, though Alesan heard her clearly. 

He knew that mumble. He nodded meekly, eyes alert for an escape.

*

“What is the Argonian’s name?” He asked Leigelf, standing to the side as the Nord fed the smelter. The heat was pleasant against his flank, if a bit of shock amidst the freezing cold.

“The lizard? Can’t say I know it.” Leigelf scooped another shovelful of coal. “Why?”

“I, uh. He works for you, doesn’t he? You don’t know his name?”

Leigelf shrugged, unbothered. He straightened, leaning on his shovel. “A great many travelers bring me ore, I don’t know all their names. Why do you want to know, son?”

Alesan reddened. “I…called him a scale-belly. I didn’t know it was bad! Abelone told me I should apologize.”

Leigelf ‘ahhed’ knowingly. “It’s as I said: I don’t know his name, but Jarl Brina probably does.”

*

“Have you asked him?” The Jarl looked amused, in her matronly way. “He would probably tell you.”

It was an indirect order. No one in the longhouse would tell him after that. Alesan stamped his feet in frustration, but acquiesced. 

He found him quickly, a spot of green in the white, returning from the Khajiit camp. He hiked a flapping, empty pack up his back; Alesan knew he always brought goods to sell. The townspeople regarded him as a merchant as much as the warrior his armor and weapons told him to be.

Alesan stopped, but the Argonian didn’t and he was passed.

“U-Um.”

The Argonian paused, looking back to him.

“My, uh, my name is Alesan. What’s yours?”

The Argonian’s expression was the same as the Jarl’s amused one from earlier. 

“Walks-in-Rough-Waters.” He answered. 

“That’s a good name, um.” Alesan shuffled nervously, stopped when he spied Abelone watching the from the inn’s porch. He said, in a rush, “I’m sorry for calling you a scale-belly.”

The Argonian laughed. It sounded like a cough. “Apology accepted. Alesan.” He added after a thoughtful pause. With a nod, he went back to his business.

Alesan beamed, and ran to Abelone. 

Walks-in-Rough-Waters left town the next day. Alesan, delivering messages, ran past him on his way out, and waved goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited/overhauled 11/2013


End file.
